


Ancient Shadow

by Gracetheauthor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, British English, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ireland, Pirates, Revenge, Scottish Character, Short Story, Slavery, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracetheauthor/pseuds/Gracetheauthor
Summary: A short story written for my creative writing class.In 17th century Ireland, along the coast of what is now known as Castlerock, a young woman and her sister descend into poverty when their father dies at sea. Desperate, her sister sells her to the captain of a pirate ship. She sinks into herself as she is abused in the worst, mind shattering ways until the day the captain goes too far. She welcomes death, but the familiar face of a savior gives her the means to exact revenge on those who wronged her.





	1. Chapter 1

There's an old village on the northern coast of Ireland with an old, splinter riddled wooden dock. The waves are fierce, the cliffs sharp and jagged with lush green grass that ripples in the salted winds. A dark, dense forest that overflows with fat deer and elk in the spring and summer rests just a few miles behind the town. The buildings are often close together, some obviously constructed by a few of the wealthier people who can afford to add intricate carvings to their doors, and real wooden shutters instead of woolen blankets. Others are modest, with only two or three rooms, blankets on the windows, some with tasteful but few door carvings. And then a small percent of them have rags in the windows, worn out pieces of cloth that barely cover the windows and prevent the sharp winds from cutting into their inhabitants, causing what few candles they may have to gutter and even go out.

In the fall and winter, fog often covers the horizon, misting cold water on everything. The sheep huddle together even more than usual, many folk staying inside to do housework, except for the men who fish everyday unless it snows. Winter here is harsh and unforgiving. Today, it is warm for a fall day, grey clouds covering the horizon of the sea that is both friend and foe. Light mist falls, weighing down the dark red strands of the young woman who sits near the edge of one of the many cliffs. A woven circlet of slender twigs and leather rests upon her head. Her long-sleeved tartan dress is overlaid with a leather corset that accentuates a slim waist, the edges of the skirt beginning to fray with wear and age. Her feet are bare, the soles tough as leather. A knife in a leather sheath is slung about her hips with a matching belt.

Eyes the color of a moss sprinkled rock watch the faint, shadowed outlines of the fishermen who work for their supper, ready to shout if there's any trouble. Long lashes blink the mist away as she licks salted drops off lips a shade darker than her hair. She sits sort of slouched to seem unaware of her surroundings to any intruders, but in the near silence, all of her senses are heightened. Her ears analyze the sounds around her; gentle lapping of the waves against the cliff, fishermen calling out to one another now and then, their words indistinct, grass rustling in the slight breeze, her own breath and the beating of her heart.

Then, faint footsteps growing stronger. The breeze changes directions, bringing with it the smell of wood smoke and darkness. She turns her head to watch the town stranger who is no longer strange to her.

Long, lean and gracefully strong limbs clad in dark leather and wool. Pale skin, broad shoulders and collar bones brushed by curling raven's wing hair, not quite contained by the queue of leather at the nape of his neck. The silver chain around his neck glimmers faintly in the muted daylight. A strong jaw, high cheekbones and eyes that swirl with fractures of every green, shards of blue and gray. Those almost unworldly eyes never miss a thing.

_Cian._

He stands beside her and looks down for a minute, then a gentle smile tugs at full lips and he folds his limbs to sit cross-legged. They are close, shoulders almost touching. Neither one says a word, and he follows her gaze when she looks back out to sea. She is aware of him, very aware with her sharp senses, knows he's even more aware of her. His senses are sharper than hers, an almost unnatural gift that also causes him grief. She knows she's younger than him, knows instinctively that he's older than the ten and eighteen summers he appears. But she also knows his nature. His grace and gentility, his calm.

"The mist 'as an air of mystery today," his voice emits as dark, silky Scottish brogue.

"What say you, Scatha, lass?" The way his lips shape her name sends a slight tremor through her.

"I say you got dropped two or three times as a bairn," Scatha replies, deadpan. "The mist has an air o' cold and wet, with a hint o' salt."

Cian feigns hurt, placing a long-fingered hand on his heart.

"Och, lass," he whines like a child. "Insulting my intelligence, you are."

"Nay," she shakes her head. "Telling the truth. Every bairn's gotten dropped at least once. Except fer me, o' course." Cian chuckles and she drops her deadpan expression, smiling.

"If it be cold, Scatha, lass," Cian says. "Why do you no' wear a coat of some sort?"

"Dair has just now started lining my coat with the wool Da got from our neighbors," Scatha replies, looking back at the sea, a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. "Besides, I do no' really feel the cold, anymore."

Cian sobers and looks at her, then follows her gaze back to the grey water. Her family isn't rich nor are they in poverty. He often gives her family firewood and deer meat in trade for Scatha or her sister mending his clothes or making him new pottery. He always gives them more than what he asks is worth, and Scatha's older sister, Dair knows. She always gives him a nod and looks at him with knowing eyes, but keeps it to herself. Both Scatha and her Da are unbearably proud. And Scatha herself more so ever since her mum died last spring.

 _She is so beautiful,_ Cian thought, looking at her profile with his peripheral vision. _She is fierce, always fighting with her Da over how a proper woman should act. She is so wild, like me, but I am not like her. I am something else._

"Cian?" her voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Aye?" he asked.

"If something ever happened tae me would you worry?" the vulnerability in her eyes strikes an internal chord.

"Aye, Scatha, lass," he replied softly. "I would do my damnedest tae find you again." The sincerity in his tricolored eyes satisfies her, and a faint smile plays upon her lips.

__________________________________________________________________

The mist shifts and swirls, sometimes covering the silhouettes of the fishermen. Several hundred leagues past them, a large ship sways with the gentle rolling of the sea, masts creaking.

The crew members walk about, checking knots while some mend sails or scrape barnacles off the sides of the ship, but most of them are below decks, rowing. A tall, brawny figure with impossibly wide shoulders and a thick black beard stands at the helm, keeping a watchful eye on the crew. It was too bad that there wasn't enough wind to fill the sails or they'd reach their destination in a week and a half, at least.

He shakes his head at the unfortunate luck he and his crew have had, lately.

"Bloody English Navy," he mutters. "Filthy dogs deserve to be sunk. Them, and their puny little boats. No match for old Wind Runner." He pats the railing of the ship affectionately.

"Tis too bad they made free with most of our profit," he mused to himself. "Though perhaps the Irish curs here will more than make up for that loss." He chuckles with ill intent.


	2. 2

The sea is stormy that day, the waves choppy and restless, giving the fishermen no end of grief and struggle. Scatha is watching, like she usually does, her newly made wool lined leather coat wrapped about her shoulders. She crouches near the ledge of the cliff, eyes straining to keep an eye on the boat that holds her father, to make sure he is still fighting strong. The sea rolls and churns, and she sees the wave rise up, not extremely huge, but big enough to splinter an old, time-worn boat like her father's. She cries out helplessly as the wave crashes down upon her father's craft. She sees the boat break in half, the figure of a man go flying.

The other men in boats immediately begin to row over to the wreckage. One of them dives into the sea to look for him. Scatha watches, not breathing, not until after she sees him come up with another figure in his arms. The others help to haul both men back into the craft, and signal for everyone to head towards shore. It was slow going, the unfriendly ocean doing her best to stop their progress.

Scatha turns from the cliff face and runs down past the houses, not paying attention to the rocks and then the hard dirt road that leads to the splinter riddled dock.

"There's been an accident!" she yells as she races through the town. "Somebody fetch Asa!"

She stands there, eyes and red hair wild, heart pounding. Five out of the six boats that had gone out earlier come ashore, their owners, jumping into the water to tie them to the posts. Her Da is lifted by two strong men who give her concerned, sad eyes. They carry him to the healer's house, who stands with her door wide open. He is laid down upon a pallet by the hearth, a blazing fire already eating away at a few logs of wood. The healer, Asa, shooes everyone except for Scatha out. One of the men says he'd tell Dair what happened.

Scatha doesn't hear him. She stares numbly at her prone and unconscious father.

"He'll be alright in my care, lass," Asa says as she begins to undress her patient. "Go, now, I'll send fer you when he wakes."

Scatha looks at her, eyes still wild and nods before swallowing a lump of sadness and fear.

She bolts outside suddenly and runs for the one person she knows would not scold her for not warning the fishermen not to go out today.  
__________________________________________________________________  
He lives in a small house just outside the forest. She runs those few miles for what seems an eternity, the wind that has kicked up blowing her hair into her face to blind her. She is about ten feet away from his house when he steps out and waits for, as if he knew she was coming.

She crashes into him, and he wraps strong arms around her, holding her tight. She clings to him and cries. She knows her father won't make it. Sickness will set in, and he won't be able to shake it.

Whatever fish he caught, he always gave to her and Dair, which meant he was thin, not as strong and healthy as he could be. Scatha knows she will live to see yet another parent die before she has any children of her own.

Cian scoops her up and carries her inside, to which she would usually protest at, but she is simply too sad. She allows him to set her on the pallet of thick hides and furs that lay by the hearth. She weeps into her hands, and Cian comes and sits next her, wrapping his arms about her shoulders. Scatha leans into him.

Her tears eventually dry, a point at which she falls asleep. Cian gently lays her down and covers her with the fur blankets.

He wants to lay beside her, but she is too tempting to him at the moment. His natural instincts demand things which he cannot, will not allow himself to do. Cian gets up and leaves, glancing back at her one last time as he fingers the chain around his neck in thought.

He shakes his head, shuts the door behind him, and heads into the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Scatha and Dair are getting desperate. Da had passed away three nights ago and now they barely have any food or money. Hardly anyone, even the wealthier inhabitants of their village, can manage to help them. Cian gives them what he could, but in spite of his best efforts, it is not enough. They are scared, though they will never admit it. They don't know if they will make it through the winter. Their supply of dried meat is dwindling, despite the fact that they only eat enough to keep from starving.  
__________________________________________________________________  
It is midday when they see the huge, looming ship. Everyone gathers to watch it, hoping it might be a merchant ship. Merchants could always be counted on to have foodstuffs and fabric. But the closer the ship comes, the more distinct the flag's emblem is. Hope turns to despair and wariness.

" _Pirates,"_  Scatha whispers. Cian, who stands beside her, nods, face grim.

The ship draws ever closer and finally gets close enough for the crew mates to tie the moorings to the docks. The gangplank is lowered and the Captain and about ten other pirates walk down. The rest remain on the ship, swords, and guns drawn.

The captain is tall, broad-shouldered, with a black beard and equally black eyes. He has a threatening aura, and the women and children are ushered behind the men.

"What be your business, here, sea dog?" one of the village elders asks of the captain.

"I be looking fer a profit," the captain replies with a deep growl of a voice that sounds like he'd gargled rocks as a child.

"What kind o' profit?" asks the elder.

"The kind made from flesh," he gives a yellow-toothed smile.

Many people shudder in disgust.

"There is no flesh trading, here," the elder tells him. "But that is not all that you look for, is it?"

"Aye, you'd be correct, old man," the captain replies. 

"If you have food, we have wool and leather goods," the elder says to him. "Mayhaps you and yours would no' mind making trades-" the captain nods "-but keep your men away from our women unless they say otherwise."

"It's a deal, then," the captain rumbles. "My name's Cronan Black, and my crew will tell you theirs."

"Now, let's get business underway, aye?"

"Aye."

Scatha refuses to go anywhere near the pirates while they are in the village, staying at home to sharpen whatever knives she can find, instead. Cian stays with her, not trusting the pirates to stay away when there is a female by herself. They spend the day talking, and Scatha admits her fears about the coming winter to Cian. Cian says he will help however he can and she thanks him, knowing it will not really be enough. He is an excellent hunter, but even he has his limits.

Night falls and the trading comes to an end, the pirates retreating to their ship, the villagers to their homes.

Dair comes back with wool, some meat and cheese, and some fabric.

"Tis' no' enough," she says. "But it will do, fer now."

Cian bids them goodnight and expresses how he doesn't feel easy leaving them unprotected, but as Dair points out, they have plenty of sharp knives, and Scatha was extremely good with them. He nods and leaves. Both sisters go to work mending clothes and take a break to eat some of the dried meat and a bit of the cheese. A few hours later, Dair motions for her to stop.

"I have something tae show you, little sister," she says, standing. "Come on."

They leave the house, and Scatha grows uneasy as Dair leads her to what she wants to show her. Unknown to them, a familiar Scotsman follows close behind.

They reach the docks and Scatha turns to run when she sees Captain Black standing in the shadow of the ship, only to slam into a strong, burly pirate. She turns to her sister with a horrifying realization.

_Dair sold me to the pirates!_

"How could you?" Scatha demands, eyes spitting fire.

"With ease, sister," Dair spits back, hate and desperation in her eyes. "Easier tae feed one mouth than two."

" _You filthy wench!"_  Scatha lunges at Dair, punching her in the eye before she is yanked back by the other pirate.  _"I'll kill you!"_

"Sure you will," Dair sneers. "In your dreams only." Captain Black hands Dair a small, bulging leather pouch that jingles. 

"I think this is a fine price for the lovely piece of flesh you've sold us today," he says. "Pleasure doing business with you, wench. Monroe, take her to the brig and make sure she can't get away."

Monroe, the pirate who holds her, nod in response. Scatha begins to flail, kicking and punching. She lands a good kick at the tender area between his legs and he drops her with a squeal of pain that is most unmanly. She tries to run away again but is thwarted when Captain Black himself scoops her up and tosses her over his shoulders.

She gives a screech, a long, drawn-out sound of fear and outrage. In the shadows, Cian flinches at the sound, heartbreaking. How Dair could do that to her own flesh and blood is beyond him. He watches as she is bound and gagged before being hauled on the ship and down into the brig. His eyes track Dair as she makes her way back to her house, humming pleasantly. Cian growls softly as an idea strikes him.

He stalks her from the shadows, following her all the way home. She steps inside, leaving the door wide enough for him to slip in silently, unnoticed by her. Hidden in the shadows, he waits.

Dair feels only a little guilty as she sets her pouch of gold coins on the table and stares at where only thirty minutes before, she and her sister had sat and mended clothes. Some of those clothes wouldn't fit her-Scatha is slimmer than she is. 

"I'll sell these once the pirates are gone," she muses aloud. "I shall claim Scatha was taken in the night when I was sleeping if they ask why."

"Clever, lass," Cian purrs, choosing that moment to step out of the shadows. Dair jumps. 

"Cian," she says nervously. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he replies. He smiles at her, and Dair pales when she sees his eye teeth lengthen.

She stares at them, terrified, heart beating fast, and finally drags her eyes up to his. No longer greenish-blue and grey they are an unholy red-streaked white and filled with the promise of violence.

"What are you?" she whispers. 

"Someone who knows your true nature," he replies. 

He lunges. She screams. Blood hits the walls to trail down to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Cian steps out of the house and licks a drop of dark liquid from his lips, closing the door softly.

Looking at the setting sun, he sighs. He heads back towards the dock and finds that Captain Black is still standing there, only this time he is smoking a pipe. Cian approaches him from the shadows, and though the other male gives no physical indication he's been startled, Cian can smell the sudden jolt of surprise.

Captain Black eyes the dark-haired male wearing loose clothing with wary, calculating eyes. There is something about him that makes the old pirate uneasy but he quells that feeling.

"Can I help you, landlubber?" the Englishman barks. 

"Perhaps," Cian responds. "Are you willing tae take on another member fer your crew?"

"Why should I recruit you? Look at you," he motions to Cian's body with his pipe, blowing a mouthful of smoke out. "You're a bloody walking, talking stick."

"Nay, lad," Cian shakes his head. "Doona let these garments fool you. I'm just as strong as any of your men."

"Are you, now?" the pirate raises a black eyebrow. "Well then, boy, can you wield a sword or fire a gun?"

"I can do both," Cian replies. "I am exceptionally good at it."

"Well then," Captain Black tamps his pipe out. "How about a wager? If you best me in a sword fight, you can join the crew, no questions asked. If you lose, you willingly give your life to my blade."

Any mortal man will balk, even show fear, but Cian's eyes glitter and he smiles. 

"Alright then, old man," he croons. "Give me a sword and I'll win my place among your crew."

Captain Black withdraws both of the swords that hang on either hip and tosses one to Cian who catches it with ease.

"On your mark, Pirate," the Scot says. 

"On three," the pirate replies. "One, two, three!"

Metal flashes in the moonlight as the swords clash with a ringing noise.

Thrust, parry, deflect, lunge ** _._**

It's a deadly dance of strength and skill.

Harsh breathing form the pirate, measured breaths from the Scot. Then the Scot sees an opening in the pirate's defense, and lunges, taking the opportunity. The pirate is stunned when the flat of the Scot's blade strikes his chest, his own sword twisted out of his hand by the other blade. He watches as it flies into the air, the last rays of the setting sun turning the metal a molten fire color before it is caught by a strong, long-fingered hand.

Captain Black looks at the Scot to see both blades in his hands. He gives a short bark of laughter and motions for the other male to give him his swords back. He does and the pirate captain gives him a measuring look.

"Welcome to the crew, lad," he says. "Gather what stuff you need and come back at dawn."

"Aye," Cian nods once. "See you then."

He walks off and heads towards his house. Once he reaches the outskirts of the village he glances around quickly, making sure no one who is nearby can see him. Giving a slight smirk, he takes off running, closing the two miles to his house in a minute and a half. He opens his door and steps inside, shutting it behind him. The inside is as black as his hair, but he has no difficulty gathering his clothes and the small, liquid filled ceramic jars that were very important to him.

Cian pulls the chain around his neck out of his shirt and looks at the ring that on it. Made of steel and forged into a Celtic knot shape, it holds a small trio of enchanted bloodstones. A close friend of his had forged it for him, and its very existence is the only reason he can walk in broad daylight.

 _It's the reason why this village has not yet tried to burn me,_ Cian muses wryly.  _They would call me "demon spawn," and try to kill me. The gods only know what Scatha would think if she knew my true nature._

That last thought is sobering.

He tucks the chain back into his shirt, places his things in a leather bag and closes it, slinging it across his shoulders. He takes one last glance at the house that has been his home for the last six moon cycles, his gaze lingering on where Scatha had lain when her father's accident had occurred.

He sighs and gathers up the hides and furs, rolling them up. He will give them to the poor villagers, but first, he has to hunt. Though his last "meal" has sated him, he wants to make sure that the hunger will not arise soon, though he will be surrounded by plenty of available "meals" on the ship.  
__________________________________________________________________  
It is just nearing dawn when Cian once again meets the pirate captain, having already given the furs and hides to some of the villagers who were very grateful to him for it. He wants to go down to the brig to check on Scatha, but he dares not go down there, yet. He will wait. Living as long as he has, he's taught himself patience. Infinite, unending patience to when it comes to getting what he wants.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the rest of the story, just a day later. I was unexpectedly busy the other day lol
> 
> My apologies.

Six days have passed and every night, Cian goes down to the brig once all pirates except for the skeleton crew are asleep. It is easy enough to get past them, go down to the brig and walk towards Scatha's cell. It saddens him that every night he will see more bruises on her skin, to see her bones become more and more prominent. He always apologizes to her, terribly sorry that he cannot do anything to help her, not really. The best he can do is to give her some of the food that the crew ate every night, despite how awful it tastes sometimes. But it is better than nothing.

Cian spends his time with the captain and the navigator, pretending to lead them to France where they plan on raiding a merchant ship. In all actuality, he is carefully, discreetly steering them along the Irish coast, so that when he and Scatha are finally able to escape, that land will not be too far away. He just hopes that Captain Black does not end up killing her, or might have to use his last resort. And when he uses his last resort, Scatha won't know everything that she needs to. Cian would rather not hurt her by making such an important decision for her. She is far too free-spirited and independent to let him get away with it.

Today, it is Cian's turn in the crow's nest, for his sight is far sharper than any of the other men.

And it is in that place that he sees Monroe drag Scatha up to Captain Black's cabin, too weak to hardly walk. His brows furrow as he zeroes in on all the bruises on her pale flesh, some yellow with age, some fresh. He nearly growls and his teeth sharpen. Cian shakes himself and forces himself to watch. When the door to the cabin hasn't opened again for ten minutes, he sighs and resigns himself to waiting until he hears the door open again.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
In six days, Scatha learns the true meaning of hate. She hates pirates, she hates her sister, and she absolutely loathes Captain Black. She hates his voice, the bruises he leaves on her body, the way he looks at her with lust in his eyes and the way she is barely given any food. The only one on the ship she doesn't hate is Cian. She longs for night-time when he will visit her, talk to her and give her what food he can. She can see the helplessness, and anger in his eyes when he looks at her battered body.

He is the only person she really cares about, and sometimes she daydreams that they are back in Ireland or in the childhood home in Scotland that he has told her about, daydreams that they had married, that none of what has happened to her has happened.

But then she will be yanked out of her cell, dragged to Captain Black's cabin and then the torture would start again. Then she will be dragged back to her cell and left there, or Monroe will have his own way with her before leaving. She wishes she could scrub those filthy memories from her body, from her mind and soul.

She wishes she could die.

Today, that wish is ever stronger as she is once again dragged to the captain's cabin. As she is shoved inside by Monroe, she trips over her torn skirt, falling to her knees. She sits back on her feet, ignoring the barking of her hands and knees as she wonders why Captain Black keeps violating her. She hasn't bathed in seven days, her hair is tangled and dirty, her dress torn and stained, her skin covered with a layer of filth and ugly bruises litter her body.

Her train of thought is derailed when Captain Black yanks her up by her arm, causing the limb to scream in agony as it is nearly wrenched from its socket. She glares at him as he leers at her.

"Well, girl," he sneers. "Ready for another day of fun?"

"You call this fun?" she spits in his face. "I'm bored tae tears." Her head is whipped to the side and she tastes blood. She glares at him.

"How's that, lass?" he looks satisfied.

"Try it again," she taunts. "Maybe I'll feel it fer sure, this time." His eyes narrow and he hits her again, startling a humorless laugh out of her.

"Is that all you got?"

He growls, tosses her on the bed and begins to beat her. She curls into a ball, trying to protect herself.

She can't hardly breathe through his blows, and when he lets up for a moment, she looks at him and insults him, his mother and insinuates that perhaps they have been intimate in nasty ways together. 

He punches her in the face, and she feels her nose break, a sudden lance of white-hot pain then welcomes the darkness that rushes in.


	6. Chapter 6

Looking at her prone body, Captain Black feels disgusted. He'd paid several galleons for this? She's barely been on his ship for a week and they have yet to reach France. Growling, he opens the door and calls for Monroe. The pirate comes and stands at attention, waiting for orders. 

"Take her back to the brig," Black commands. "I'm done with her fer today." Monroe nods and steps inside, picking Scatha up and slinging her over his shoulder before walking out.  
__________________________________________________________________  
It is afternoon when Cian hears the captain's door open and he turns around in the crow's nest to watch. Monroe steps inside, then comes back out with Scatha over his shoulder.

He feels something snap when he doesn't hear her heartbeat. A drop of red glistens in the sunlight, catching his attention. Cian draws in a deep breath; smells of unwashed bodies, the sea, and the coppery tang of blood. His teeth sharpen and he growls. Black has finally killed her, calling for his own death in return.

Come nightfall, the captain would breathe no more.

Cian wills himself to be patient.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
The moon is full, highlighting the deck, casting long, dark shadows. The skeleton crew murmurs amongst themselves as they pass one another.

"Oy, did you hear that?" says the pirate at the helm of the ship to the other one on guard nearby.

"Hear what?"

A whisper of wind, like a sword slicing through the air.

"That!"

"Aye, but there's no wind tonight."

And again.

The base of the shadow of the great mast shifts, growing an extension in the vague shape of a man, though no man stands there, looming like some ancient shadow.

"Am I going moon-blind or is that actually happening?" the helmsman shivers.

"It's happening, mate," the guard says. "Spooky happenings have been happening ever since the Captain broke the girl."

"Her ghost is getting revenge on us, mate. I'm sure of it."

"Why he didn't toss her into the sea, I'll never know," grumbles the helmsman.

There is a faint whisper of noise, a quiet snap. When his companion doesn't reply, he glances over.

To his horror, the other pirate lies on the deck with staring, sightless eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Cian feels no remorse in killing the pirate. All that matters now is getting to Scatha. While he is grateful for the fact that Captain Black has not had her body tossed into the sea, he cannot help but wonder what sort of things he plans to do with her body.

Cian shakes the thought away and prowls into the brig. He comes upon Scatha's cell door and grasps the bars in his hands. He pulls and the steel bends and groans, unhappy at the pressure being forced upon it. When the gap is wide enough for him to slip through, Cian steps inside and sits down, pulling Scatha's cold, stiff body onto his lap. He brushes the long, tangled red strands away from her beautiful face, scrapes away the dried blood around her nose, and feels grief swell in his heart. He aches for the loss of any normal life she could have had, for the parents who had died within a year of one another, for the cruel sister who'd sent her to her death.

But he is here, and he can give her the chance to be reborn.

Cian bends his head to her neck, sinking his canines into her flesh, and he drinks. When he's drunk enough, he pries her mouth open with strong fingers, careful not to break her jaw or teeth. He cuts his wrist open, places it over her mouth and waits.   
__________________________________________________________________

_Darkness, cold. It was cold._

But there is a liquid warmth trickling through her, warming her up. She wants to get closer to the warmth, but she can't move. Wait. The warmth, it's getting warmer and warmer. Then it is hot and she can bear it for a little while. But the hot becomes scalding and she screams as deadened limbs awaken. 

She finds she can move, though her joints are stiff and there is something holding her down. Her eyes snap open and she sees a man with curling black hair only a foot away from her face. His eyes, they swirl with different colors and they captivate her. She stops moving, calm now, and just stares at him. He tilts his head, and she follows his eyes, suddenly aware that the liquid heat seeping through her is in her mouth, and that she lies in his lap. She feels flesh on her lips and looks to see a strong, pale skinned wrist. She follows the wrist back to its owner who is the man with the captivating eyes.

Memories suddenly slam into her with such force that she jerks violently, almost toppling to the floor.

_Her mother's death last spring, her father and his accident, his death. Dair, selling her to the pirates. The Captain beating her, violating her. The man, watching her through the bars of her cell with sad, hopeless eyes. Her violent death._

She looks at the man with a new understanding and removes his wrist from her mouth.

_Cian._

Somehow, he has resurrected her with his blood. She's always known he was different, but now it all makes sense.

" _Deamhan fola,"_  she murmurs.   
"Aye. And now, so are you," he replies, sealing his wrist shut with a few swipes of his tongue.

"But why?"

"You deserve a better life," he replies, standing. She tries to follow, stumbling. He catches her.

"Would you like tae avenge yourself, now?"

Her response is a feral grin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be graphic? Mentions of blood and whatnot, but be wary if you are triggered by such things

Moonlight.

Two shadows flitting by the crew.

Uneasy murmurs and the shuffling of feet.

A cut off scream from the crow's nest.

The whoosh of a body hitting the deck, bones cracking.

The pirate lays broken on the wooden planks, wide, unseeing eyes locked in an expression of horror.

No blood trickles from the gaping wound in his neck.

Screaming erupts from below decks. Pirates, wounded, bloody and terrified run onto the deck. Some stop in shock at the body already lying broken on the sea-worn planks. Some of them throw themselves into the sea, preferring to drown rather than be torn apart by the terrifying creature down below. A whoosh, slight thump. They freeze when the Irish lass who was killed earlier that day drops to the deck from the crow's nest. She peers at the pirates through tangled red hair. Her eyes are an unholy, pure white, red veins and irises a few shades darker than blood running through them. A feral grin reveals long, sharp canines descending from her mouth.

"Hullo, lads," she purrs. "I'm hungry, mind if I have a bite?" They scream as she pounces on one of them, tearing into him.

The creature from down below emerges, and the realization of this nightmare sinks in. One of their fellow comrades turns out to be a monster and he creates another like him. The only escape is death-either at the hands of the monsters or the cold depths of the ocean. Those quick enough to run away dash madly to the sea, preferring to drown.  
The female creature drags the captain out of his cabin by the nape of his neck with unnaturally strong hands and shows him what she and her counterpart have wrought upon him.

His crew, torn apart, shredded and bloody, the male standing amidst the bodies with a terrible grin. Blood coats his mouth and clawed hands, his red and white eyes filled with malice. Sometime during the melee, a lantern was broken upon the deck, and flames now lick at the salt-soaked planks, eating hungrily. The captain's life flashes before his eyes, and he remembers the feelings he'd had about the male. He should have listened to his instincts.

"Too late, now, Captain," the female purrs in his ear. His eyes widen. "Aye, I know your thoughts, scum. Say your prayers, lad."

Black doesn't say any prayers, only wishes that he will not see either one of the creatures in hell.

Hot breath on his neck, a sadistic laugh. Pain from being his neck being ripped open with sharp teeth.

The last thing he hears before he dies is the crackling of flames, the spraying of his own blood and the voices of the two creatures.


	9. Chapter 9

Far from the destroyed ship and crew, the villagers of the town watch with morbid fascination.  
What, they wonder, caused the ship to go down in flames? Why did the crew jump into the sea? Why is there screaming? They watch for a while, then return to their homes. One lass watches with glee in her eyes, her hand going to the bandage on her neck.

 _Let them burn,_  she snarls silently. She watches for a while longer and retreats to her house. With only herself to feed, she finds she has more food, more blankets. Inside her house, a single candle flickers, casting dancing shadows upon the walls. She sits down on her pallet of furs and blankets and watches the shadows move, her imagination running wild, memories of the event that caused the wound on her neck adding details.

A shadow moves in a way that was unlike the others, and she startles. She shakes herself and blinks to make sure she isn't hallucinating. The shadow is just that-a shadow. She sighs and closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, she is face to face with red-veined white orbs. Her shriek is cut off when a long-fingered hand clamps over her mouth and a strong arm wraps around her upper body, constricting her arms to her sides. She stares with horror at the creature in front of her.

Dripping wet, matted red hair, filthy yet still pale, smooth skin, and red lips revealing sharp canines in imitation of a smile.

"Dair," her name is an unnaturally husky rasp. "You look well, sister. Must be nice having tae feed only yourself."

Scatha's eerie eyes wander to the bandage at Dair's neck and she glances at Cian.

"Your work, I assume?" she says. He nods. Scatha leans forward to slice the cloth away with a sharp fingernail. The skin beneath is barely scabbed over, and it looks painful.

Scatha pokes at it and Dair's yelp of pain is muffled by the hand over her mouth.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Scatha mocks. "That's nothing compared to what I went through. You're lucky I do no' want tae hurt you in the ways I was hurt." Dair almost sighed in relief but Scatha's next words had her heart beating even harder.

"I'm still going tae hurt you, sister. I simply can no' forgive you for what you did to me. Cian, let her go."

Cian did and Dair immediately makes a run for it. She is almost to the door when she is tackled to the ground. Her head is pulled back and to the side by her long brown hair.

She feels hot breath on her now exposed neck, feels the sting of sharp teeth and begins to struggle, beyond terrified. She knows she will not live through this again, but she will die trying to escape.

"See you in hell, sister."  
__________________________________________________________________  
The next night, two neighbors, disturbed by the fact that Dair had not come out all day, go to her house. They knock and when they receive no answer, they step inside. One of them trips over something, and nearly falls. When he rights himself, he looks down in horror.

Dair lay on the floor, dead. Her wide, unseeing blue eyes are forever frozen in an expression of pain and fear. Her neck is bloodied, whole chunks of it missing, like an animal had gnawed at her. One of them runs outside to retch. They tell the rest of the town, and they hold a funeral for both Dair, and Scatha, knowing that Scatha is most likely already dead. Two new headstones are placed next to two older ones.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter, Lovelies. :D

There's an ancient town on the northern Irish coast, the dock used to be riddled with splinters, but the townsfolk have long since put in new pilings and metal to make it more sturdy. The waves are still fierce, the cliffs are still jagged if only a little softer. The green grass has been cut short and ripples only a little in the salt scented breeze that passes through. The forest is no longer so far away from the town-it is but fifty feet away from the nearest house. The buildings are still close together, thatched roofing replaced over time by shingle tiles, though many of them still have the original stone walls.

The light of the setting summer sun shines bright on the fiery locks of a young woman who holds a small boy of about five in her strong arms as they stand near the edge of a cliff. The boy has wavy black hair, and as he turns his head to watch something behind him, reddish highlights give his hair a coppery tone.

A smile stretches his perfect, pale red rosebud of a mouth, brightening the mossy greens, grays and blues of his eyes.

" _Mam, tá Daidí anseo!"_ the boy exclaims excitedly.  
"Is he, now?" she murmurs to the boy, smiling as she turns around. A tall man dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans walks to them with long, graceful strides. His hair is black and as wavy as the boy's. The boy squirms in the woman's arms and she sets him down with a soft laugh. The boy runs full speed at the man, who catches him and swings him up, around, and onto his hip.

"Lorcan," she hears the man exclaim. "You've gotten fast, little one."

"Mam's been teachin' me," Lorcan responds.

"Where is she?"

Lorcan points to where the woman stands, her long red hair swaying in the gentle breeze. She smiles at them and waves. They wave back and walk towards her. When they are only half a foot away from each other, the man bends down to give the woman a kiss. Lorcan squeals his disgust and covers his eyes with his hands. They break apart with a laugh.

"Oh, Lorcan, my boy," she kisses his hands and he peeks out at her from between his fingers. "One day, you'll like kissing girls."

"I will no'!" Lorcan protests, taking his hands away from his face.

"Aye, you will," she laughs. "Tell him, Cian."

"It's true, lad. Your mam is right."

"Daidí!" Lorcan looks at his father with dismay and tugs on the old, aged chain around his neck in distress, causing the bloodstone pendant to jiggle wildly across his thin chest.

"Och, lad, careful," Cian gently removes Lorcan's hands from the chain. "We have tae get a new one, tonight. Doona break it before then."

"Sorry," Lorcan looks contrite then brightens. "I'm hungry."

"Alright, lad," Cian shifts the boy to his left hip. "We'll get something tae eat. What say you, Scatha, love?" He glances at her and she rewards him with a slight curving of her lips.

"I say that's a good idea," she replies, lacing her left hand with his.

A steel wedding band inlaid with many small bloodstones winks in the sunlight as she brings his hand up to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. He gives her an affectionate look, and the small family walks the trail that leads back to the town. All the while, Lorcan talks in a mix of English and his native Irish Gaelic, Scatha and Cian adding the appropriate responses.  
____________________________________________________________

Later that night, a man who was known to beat his wife and children was found in an alleyway. His throat was torn out, dozens of pinprick punctures all over his body, each set a different size like he was poked with different sized needles. But there wasn't any. Police shrugged it off as another one of the "vampire" kills that had been happening recently. No one really wanted to investigate the hows and whys of them. People saw them as justified killings; many of the victims were known as wife-beaters and criminals. But small-time thieves were never among the victims.  
_______________________________________________________________________________  
In their house, Scatha and Cian pack their belongings while Lorcan fiddles with the shiny new steel chain around his neck.

"Why are we moving?" he asks.

"Because, little one," Cian replied. "We've already eaten all the bad guys here. We doona eat the good ones."

"Oh, okay," this made perfect sense to the boy. "Daidí, can we go tae Scotlan'?"

"Och, aye," his father replies. "I doona see why no'." The boy grins happily.

"Mam," he says. "Look." Scatha looks over and smiles when she sees that her baby boy is beginning to control his features. His eyes, so much like his father's, are now the traditional red and white that signifies the Change. Lorcan grins, showing off his tiny fangs.

"That's my boy," she purrs, flashing her own canines. "You learn so fast, little one."

"Like his mam," Cian comments. "Alright, my loves, let's go."

Lorcan jumps off the chair he is sitting in and walks over to hold Scatha's free hand, her other occupied with a luggage case. Both of Cian's hands are also occupied, so Lorcan opens and shuts the door for them. Out in the cool, summer night, they all take a deep breath and vanish into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> There is implied rape at one point. please skip over or don't read if you are triggered by that. There is abuse. And blood.
> 
> But anyways this was written for my creative writing class last year. My teacher told me I almost made him like paranormal stuff.


End file.
